At the Close
by WickedForGood13
Summary: When Harry walks into the Forbidden Forest with the Resurrection Stone, prepared to die, he expects to meet his parents. Who he finds instead provides some shocking revelations, and both are irrevocably changed.


_You have something of mine. I'd like it back._

_It's powerful but it's . . . not the same. _

_It doesn't quite . . . understand me, know what I mean?_

These words continued to haunt Harry as he made his way to the Forest, previously forbidden to Hogwarts students. He wondered at Draco's tone – since when had _Malfoy_ become _Draco_ to him? – and couldn't help but think that he'd been trying to relay a message of some kind, or perhaps a code. Then, there was his whole attitude and posture to consider – Draco had seemed torn. When he'd first appeared, he had been ready to kill Harry, or at least capture him and take him to Voldemort. But as they spoke, he'd begun to waver – about the time Harry had been questioning Draco's motives behind shielding him and his friends – and was about to drop his wand when Ron and Hermione had shown up.

"It doesn't make sense," Harry thought, speaking aloud to himself. "What does Draco want? What was he asking me for? Protection? Considering our past, I can't believe it! I don't dare hope . . ."

By this time, he'd reached the outskirts of the Forest. For some reason, he paused before entering the line of trees. Despite his frequent trips into the Forest's depths – which was far more often than he'd ever care to admit to – he found himself hesitating, as though measuring out how long he had left to live, how many breaths he had left to take.

"It's for the greater good," he said, hoping to quell whatever fears regarding the unknown that remained. His resolve strengthened by the thought of his friends living in peace – albeit without him – he continued on his way to confront his destiny. However, he found himself pausing as his senses attuned themselves to the presence of Voldemort and his Dark forces, and Harry knew that he was near.

"I'm ready to die," he whispered, withdrawing the Golden Snitch from his pocket – the first Snitch he'd ever caught, in his first-ever Quidditch game – and pressing his lips to the cold metal. At his touch, a hidden compartment slid silently open to reveal the Resurrection Stone. Taking it in his hand, Harry closed his eyes. When he next looked, expecting to see his family, he was shocked to discover Draco Malfoy standing before him instead, his blond hair and pale complexion a sharp contrast to his dark suit that blended in with the nighttime setting.

"Hello, Potter," said the young man in question.

"Malfoy, what—? Are you a ghost?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat foolish.

"No, I'm very much alive," said Draco, chuckling appreciatively at Harry's confusion and further adding to it with his jocular behavior. "I followed you."

"Why? For the glory of turning me in all on your own?" asked Harry bitterly.

"No," Draco said. "Harry, I came to talk you out of giving yourself up to Voldemort. What's that going to accomplish? All that will happen is a lot of people – including me – giving up at the loss of their hero. Don't do it, Harry – _please_."

"That's twice, now, you've called me by my given name," Harry observed. "What's your angle? What's in it for _you_?"

"Nothing," said Draco entreatingly. "I care for you a great deal, that's all."

"Since when?" asked Harry skeptically.

"Are you still interested in why I didn't tell Bellatrix who you and the others were?" Draco asked suddenly. At Harry's nod, he continued, "This is why."

With that, he strode purposefully forward, tenderly placing his hands on either side of Harry's face and kissing his lips hungrily. Although initially startled, Harry soon began responding, his arms coming to wrap around Draco's back instead of hanging limply at his side. They clung together – a man sentenced to die, and a man who was already considered a traitor to one side of the war currently being fought and would probably be considered a traitor by the other side before the night was through. When the lack of oxygen became too much to bear, they pulled apart, only to quickly come together again. Draco's tongue darted out, demanding entrance, which Harry gladly granted, and they began a new kind of exploration. Their kissing was sloppy and wet – tongues battling for dominance, teeth clashing – but to them, it was perfect, for they'd finally found acceptance . . . with each other.

"Why me?" Harry gasped as Draco withdrew his lips from his, only to start trailing kisses across his cheeks and down his jaw line and neck.

"Because, Harry," Draco patiently explained, "You're the only one who's ever understood. You're the only one who knows what it's like to not have had a say in anything, to have had your future mapped out for you."

"But . . . your disdain for me, in school—"

"—was all a ploy to make others believe I couldn't stand you, and to keep you safe from my father's evil ways."

"But . . . you broke my nose!" Harry spluttered.

"And you cut me open and spilled my guts on a bathroom floor!" Draco quickly countered. His outburst over, Draco's expression fell, to be replaced by a look of overwhelming guilt, and Harry realized that he'd been wearing a mask the entire time. "The point is that we've both behaved like idiots. You'll never know how sorry I am for my actions where you were concerned," he whispered. "I never meant to incite you to any sort of rage. But I had to keep up appearances. Rest assured, though, that everything I've ever done has been for _you_, Harry Potter!"

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry too. But why would you do anything for me?" whispered Harry, hardly daring to believe the words being spoken.

"Because – I love you," Draco whispered back softly.

At hearing Draco's admission, Harry pulled him flush against his chest in a desperate need to be as close as possible to the man he loved before their time ran out. "Draco . . ." murmured Harry, the anguish he was feeling plain to hear. "I have to die – I'm the last Horcrux."

Draco tensed in Harry's arms. "No . . ." he whispered, willing his denial to make it so. He didn't want to lose Harry – not now, not ever.

"Yes," Harry breathed against his cheek, holding Draco tighter in an effort to stave off the pain that would come with accepting their impending separation. And as he held Draco, he memorized what it felt like to have him in his arms, their bodies pressed close together, his distinctive scent overwhelming Harry's senses . . . "I have to go," he said, before he lost his nerve to carry out Dumbledore's final mission.

"Not yet," Draco pleaded. "Please, stay for a little while longer."

Swallowing thickly, Harry nodded his consent, and the two boys – their hands clasped and fingers laced together – moved to sit at the base of one of the trees surrounding them. Draco, despite being taller, slunk down to allow his head to rest on Harry's shoulder. In return, Harry wound his arm around Draco's waist, pulling the blond flush against his side.

"Tell me about yourself, Harry," Draco demanded of him.

"What do you want to know?" Harry responded, amused by Draco's query.

"You grew up with Muggles, didn't you?" he asked. "What were they like?"

Harry gave a short, bark-like laugh. "They were the worst sort of Muggles imaginable," he said. "Until I got my Hogwarts letter, I lived in a cupboard under the stairs." Draco gasped, and Harry set about to reassure him. "It wasn't so bad, really. The cupboard became a sanctuary, of sorts, for when things got to be too much. It was small, and cozy – I felt safe when I was in there."

Draco abruptly pulled Harry down to his level, pouring all the love he felt for the raven-haired boy into a single breathtaking kiss that left them both gasping for air.

"Not that I'm complaining," Harry smirked, "But what was _that_ for?"

"_That_ was to show you how much I love you, and to let you know that I'm sorry for ever contributing to your pain," Draco replied, smiling sadly at him.

"It's alright, love," said Harry gently, "I've forgiven you." They shared another sweet and tender kiss, Harry carefully cradling Draco's face in his hands. "Do you forgive me?" he asked worriedly.

"Most definitely," Draco murmured, a little dazed from the intensity of their kisses.

"Good," Harry nodded firmly. "I couldn't face my death knowing that you still hated me."

"I never hated you, Harry," said Draco, raising a hand to stroke Harry's cheek and turning his head back to face him, as Harry had been looking off into the distance in the direction where Voldemort was surely positioned, like a snake waiting to strike.

Harry buried his head in Draco's chest and began to sob. "I don't want to die," he gasped. "I have so much to live for: you, Hermione, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys . . . How can I leave everyone behind without even a final farewell?"

"Harry, love, breathe," said Draco, concerned that the other boy was about to hyperventilate. "Everything's going to be fine."

"You can't know that for sure," said Harry, glaring accusingly up at Draco.

"No, but I have faith," Draco replied assuredly. "I have faith that you will succeed in beating Voldemort; I have faith that your friends and family will survive, as will everyone else. They're strong, Harry; most of them have already lived through one war. What's one more, in the grand scheme of things? And, don't forget, we'll have _you_ watching over us. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I'm being stupid, aren't I?" asked Harry.

"No, you're being realistic. Dumbledore's the stupid one for expecting you to walk blindly to your death. However, what's done is done. Your fate has been decided, and now you must face it."

Taking in great gulps of air, Harry made to stand, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist.

"Not just yet, please?" asked Draco, his eyes begging Harry to not leave him alone so soon.

Harry nodded, and repositioned himself so that Draco's head was resting in his lap. "What about you?" he asked, "What was your childhood like?"

Draco snorted. "Is now really the time to be sharing our life stories, Harry?"

"Now is all the time we have," he replied, and that thought sobered both boys.

"My story's a bit similar to yours, actually," Draco began. "I was neglected – raised more by house elves than by my own parents. All they cared about was that I eventually produce an heir to carry on the Malfoy family name and tradition."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, bending over to press a kiss to Draco's forehead. "I had no idea. That day in Diagon Alley, before our second year, if I'd only known . . . If I'd paid better attention, we might have been friends, and perhaps I could have spared you all this pain."

"I didn't mind being alone if it kept you safe. My father is persuasive, manipulative, and vile. I would never have risked exposing you to him," said Draco, pushing himself into a somewhat upright position so as to have better access to Harry's lips.

Once they'd drawn apart again, Harry said, "I appreciate what you've done for me. But all that's in the past now."

"Except for the ultimate sacrifice," Draco corrected him.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"I don't want to live alone anymore," said Draco. "I'll follow you, as soon as I can. Wait for me?"

"Forever," Harry replied, smiling sadly down at Draco and reconnecting their lips. They pulled away, and Draco knew their brief respite from the war was over. "It's time," Harry whispered.

Taking a shaky breath, the two boys rose to their feet. Draco pulled out his wand and motioned for Harry to hide his. "It will make it more realistic if I appear to have captured you."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Kiss me," he said desperately, and Draco obliged, crushing their lips together for what would be their last kiss. As they withdrew, Draco planted one more gentle kiss on Harry's forehead, directly over his distinctive lightning-bolt scar.

"I love you," he whispered, the breath from his words ghosting over Harry's skin.

"I love you too," Harry replied, his eyes roving over Draco's body for a last glimpse of the man he loved. "Let's go."

The pair walked forward, Harry slightly in front of Draco to keep up the appearance that he was Draco's prisoner. No one but them would know how accurate their pretence was – Draco had captured Harry's mind, body and soul. Harry loved Draco with all his heart, and was determined to protect him for as long as he could, no matter the cost, until Draco had fulfilled his vow to die with Harry.

They arrived in the clearing – Aragog's lair, Harry realized with growing dread – to be greeted by a multitude of Death Eaters, while Voldemort stood isolated in the center of the circle his minions had formed.

"I've brought Potter, my Lord," Draco murmured, respectfully lowering his eyes.

"Well done, Draco," Voldemort hissed. "You and your family will be rewarded."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Draco, bowing low and hoping his disdain for the snake-like monster standing before him was not obvious – after all, it wouldn't do to die _before_ Harry. He planned to go out in a blaze of glory, defending Hogwarts and his classmates as he sought to redeem himself in his final moments. Draco took this opportunity to lightly touch Harry's back, offering him a last show of kindness before he was brutally murdered in cold blood.

Still bowing low, he retreated to the edge of the Death Eaters' circle, strategically placing himself halfway between Voldemort and Harry. He knew that Voldemort would want confirmation of Harry's demise, and he wanted to be the last one to touch Harry before his body was humiliated as Voldemort demonstrated his superior powers.

No matter – before the night was through, Draco would see Voldemort dead, if it was the last thing he did (and it probably would be).

"Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived – come to die," Voldemort said slowly, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

As though in slow motion, Draco watched as Voldemort brandished his wand like a sword against Harry, whose wand was still stowed safely in his jacket pocket, as he hadn't wanted to be tempted to defend himself. Voldemort was right – he _had_ come to die. Although his fate had been decided for him long ago, the choice had been whether or not he accepted what was to come. And he had, which was why both he and Draco were in their current positions – Draco, watching his lover calmly await death; Harry, watching his life flash before his eyes and wishing to feel Draco's lips on his just one more time.

There was a whispered curse – _Avada Kedavra_ – and two figures toppled to the ground, almost simultaneously.

Draco didn't care what happened to Voldemort; he almost hoped that the spell had rebounded again as it had some seventeen years before. His sole focus was on Harry, who lay in a crumpled heap, his left arm lying at an impossible angle and his mouth gaping open. Draco bowed his head, filled with grief at losing his love so soon after admitting to him the feelings that he had buried within him for years, hidden from the rest of the world.

Rather than cheer at the Dark Lord's triumph over a mere schoolboy, the Death Eaters ignored Harry's body in favor of fawning over their fallen master, who was staggering to his feet.

"You," he pointed his wand at Draco, who was closest to the body, "Check to see if he's dead."

Slowly, as if in a trance, Draco walked forward and knelt on the forest's moist ground. Fighting back tears, he bent over the prone form of his newfound lover, his hands gently caressing Harry's face, before slipping down beneath his shirt. At the feel of a steady heart beating under his hand, Draco's breath caught in his throat, and he found himself valiantly trying to suppress a grin.

Schooling his features back into a neutral expression, Draco rose and turned to face Voldemort. "Harry Potter is dead, my Lord," he said.

At his pronouncement, cheers broke out as Death Eaters stamped their feet and yelled in triumph, someone even shooting celebratory sparks in the air to mark the occasion.

Draco moved aside as Voldemort approached. Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he watched Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse on Harry's limp and unresponsive body, the force lifting him into the air and causing his glasses to fall to the ground. Surely now the ruse would be discovered, for no one could remain silent for long under such torture. But Harry didn't even whimper, and Draco was impressed at Harry's endurance.

Finally, Voldemort released Harry from the curse, allowing his body to come crashing back to Earth. "Now, we go to the castle and show them what has become of their hero," he sneered. "And I believe that _you_ should carry the body," he said, smiling widely at Hagrid. He motioned for those nearest the half-giant to set him free. "Pick up your little friend, Hagrid, and put on the glasses. We want him to be recognizable."

The group proceeded to make their way back through the forest in the direction of the castle. Draco remained close to Hagrid the entire time. Knowing Harry as he thought he did, the noble Gryffindor was sure to reveal his state of health in some dramatic move, and Draco was determined to be there with him, to provide him with a shield, if nothing else.

"Harry Potter is dead," announced Voldemort without preamble, "He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as well every member of their family."

Draco trembled with barely suppressed rage at the lies Voldemort was audacious enough to spout. Anyone who knew Harry, even a little, would know that he would willingly lay down his life to prevent others from needlessly dying. He was brave and selfless, and that was why Voldemort would inevitably fall, because he underestimated his opponents.

There were cries from the castle doors as those who were left streamed outside to see for themselves the truth to Voldemort's bold statement. Draco sought out those who were closest to Harry. Being at the front lines, Draco's blond hair was easily recognizable, and many of his classmates took to glaring at him, as though Harry's death were his fault. Draco tried to ignore them, looking for the one who's opinion Harry valued above all others: Hermione Granger. Contrary to popular belief, Draco didn't hate Hermione. As he had explained to Harry previously, he had merely been trying to keep up appearances for the sake of everyone but himself. Their eyes met, and Hermione nodded once. Even across the distance separating them, she could read the distress in Draco's eyes and posture, and she sought to let him know that she didn't blame him.

As Neville Longbottom stepped forward, Draco smirked in spite of himself, for Neville's skills were legendary. He'd heard stories of Neville's bravery and heroism in the past year as he sought to defend and protect the younger students from the cruelties of the Carrows. Draco would have helped, if he'd been present and if his position had allowed him. Neville's speech was moving, and Draco found himself fighting back tears as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

There was a crackling in the air, as though in anticipation of a major event. Something was about to happen – everyone could feel it. As though Neville's words were a trigger, Harry deftly rolled out of Hagrid's arms.

"Now, Harry," Draco screamed, matching Harry stride for stride as he sought to shield his unprotected back. "Confringo!" he yelled behind him, and a wall of flames sprung up, guarding their escape and buying them a few precious moments to make it to the doors of Hogwarts uninhibited.

Chaos reigned as the Death Eaters surged towards the castle, and cries of "Harry Potter's alive" could be heard on both sides of the battle that had recommenced.

Somehow, in the pandemonium, Harry and Draco were separated.

A crowd was gathering in the Great Hall, and Harry could see that three duels of epic proportions were currently being waged – clearly, to the death. Voldemort was fighting McGonagall, Kingsley, and Slughorn; Bellatrix was fighting Hermione, Ginny, and Luna. Meanwhile, Lucius was fighting Draco, his own son; Narcissa was nowhere to be seen.

Harry was torn, wanting to attack yet needing to protect. His decision was made for him when a Killing Curse shot by Ginny's ear, death missing her by inches. Though Harry no longer loved her the way he once had, he still cared for her and would lay down his life for her. However, his advance on Bellatrix was foiled by Molly Weasley, as she ran past him, throwing off her robe and jumping eagerly into the fray, refusing help of any kind.

"Stand back – she's mine," Molly ordered.

Those on the sidelines formed a ring around the duelers, their attention riveted on the current fighters, and not on Harry, who was clearly visible.

Snarling and cackling madly, Bellatrix began to taunt Molly. "What will happen to your children when I've killed you? When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"

"You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!" Molly declared emphatically, and with a slashing motion of her wand, she struck Bellatrix down, the curse hitting her in the chest directly across her heart, the same place where Bellatrix's curse had caught her cousin, Sirius, causing him to topple through the veil.

Voldemort appeared unaffected by the loss of his most trusted lieutenant, as he continued to fight his three opponents, his wand twirling and slashing through the air as he fought to kill.

Meanwhile, Draco continued to battle with his father. "You would sully the family name by siding with _Potter_?" Lucius sneered.

"No, I would elevate us by siding with _Harry_," Draco countered, stressing his lover's given name. "Harry will win, Father. It's in your best interest to support us now, or suffer the consequences later."

"You count yourself among Potter's followers, then?"

"Harry doesn't have followers, Father. Everyone who is fighting here tonight are here of their own volition. They weren't tricked, bribed, or coerced into joining. They do so willingly, as do I. Father, please . ." Draco whispered, even as he continued to fire curses at the man who had helped to raise him. Though he cursed him, Draco's spells were designed to maim, not kill. He may not have liked or loved his father very much, but the man had still helped to create him, and Draco would never wish him dead.

"You are no son of mine," Lucius snarled, and pointed his wand directly in Draco's face. The Killing Curse was on the tip of his tongue – and had, in fact, already been spoken. Draco awaited his death as calmly as Harry had, but it never came. There was a shout of "Protego," and Draco felt a shield erect itself between him and his father. The curse rebounded, and struck Lucius instead; he dropped to the floor, dead before he even hit the ground.

Draco turned to find his savior, and found Harry looking intensely at him. Following his unspoken direction, Draco joined the throng of onlookers, giving Harry one less person to worry about as he faced Voldemort for the last time.

Enraged at having his most stalwart followers taken out of commission, Voldemort blasted McGonagall, Kingsley, and Slughorn into the wall, where they lay, stunned, as Voldemort and Harry began to circle each other, like predators poised for the killing strike.

"I don't want anyone else to try to help," Harry called, his voice ringing out in the silence. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

"Potter doesn't mean that," Voldemort sneered. "That isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, boy?"

"No one," Harry replied simply, trying to suppress the pain he felt at the thought of the others who had indeed sacrificed themselves for his sake already. "There aren't any more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good."

"And you think it will be you?" asked Voldemort incredulously.

"Yes," said Harry. "That wand still isn't working for you, is it? It's because you killed the wrong wizard. Dumbledore's death was planned between him and Snape months in advance. Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, but his plan backfired – on _you_."

Voldemort looked intrigued, and slightly worried.

"Draco Malfoy disarmed Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower, making him the Elder Wand's new master," Harry continued, subtly shifting his body so that he stood between Draco and Voldemort, who would surely attack Draco once Harry was disposed of.

"No matter," said Voldemort, shrugging. "After I have dealt with you, I will move on to the Malfoy boy."

"I got there first, Riddle," said Harry, crouching further down as he sought to protect Draco with everything he had, "At Malfoy Manor, I overpowered Draco and took his wand – which means that _I_ am now the Elder Wand's master."

The crowd gasped at Harry's revelation.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know that its last master was Disarmed?" Harry whispered softly. He could feel the tension building between him and Voldemort, and knew that it wouldn't be long – soon, it would all be over, everything.

As dawn struck, the moment of truth came. Voldemort and Harry each simultaneously cast their respective spells, a circle of flames erupting in the center where the two spells collided. The Elder Wand spun out of Voldemort's grasp and flew through the air – all eyes were drawn to it, and to Harry, who caught the wand in his free hand with all the unerring skill of his position as a Seeker. Voldemort fell over backwards, arms splayed and eyes rolling, as he was struck down by his own rebounding curse.

There was a moment of silence, and then the Great Hall erupted in cheers, the cacophony of sound deafening to Harry's ears. He was rushed at by a multitude of people, all who wanted to hug him, shake his hand, touch some part of him, as they sought to let him know what all of his hard work and sacrifice had meant.

In the center of it all was Harry, surrounded by his closest friends, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He looked over their heads for the one in whose arms he'd rather be, and found Draco standing off to the side by himself, a proud-yet-sad smile on his face as he watched Harry accept the congratulations of seemingly the entire wizarding world.

Shrugging off his many admirers, Harry made his way to Draco's side, uncaring of who saw, or what anyone said or thought.

"You did it, Harry," Draco murmured, tenderly cradling Harry's face in his hands. As he lowered his lips to meet Harry's, he heard a number of shocked gasps, and what might have been a shriek from the girl Weasley. It didn't matter – Harry was his, and he wanted everyone to know it.

"I love you," Harry whispered softly after they broke the kiss. "And I think it's time to do some damage control."

Draco took Harry's proffered hand, immediately lacing their fingers together, and followed him over to the others who were watching them in stunned silence. He chuckled at their expressions and at the absurdity of the situation. Who would have thought that Harry Potter would ever return his feelings, much less that he would announce this fact mere moments after defeating Voldemort?

"Everyone, I have an announcement to make," Harry called out, and Draco found himself suppressing a groan at his . . . at _Harry's_ dramatics. "As you are all aware, this is Draco Malfoy. Forget everything you may have known about him, though – it's a lie. All his life, he has defended and protected me; all his life, he's loved me. And as I walked to the Forest tonight, I met Draco there and realized that I had loved him all along too. He saved my life. When Voldemort tried to kill me, Draco lied and said that he'd succeeded. Draco Malfoy is as much a hero as I am or as any one of you are, and I want him treated with the respect he deserves. Thank you."

Harry turned away, his speech over for the time being, though he had a feeling that he would be making many more throughout his hopefully long life. He led Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny outside where they could talk in relative privacy. As soon as they were alone, Ginny launched herself at Harry.

"You're alive," she murmured repeatedly as she peppered kisses along his neck and cheeks.

"Ginny, get off," Harry ordered, gently pushing her away.

She looked stunned, then confused, and then angry. "So all that talk about coming back to me – it was all a lie?" she demanded.

"No," said Harry, "At least, it didn't start out that way. I did love you, Ginny, once. But the love I feel for you now is more like what I feel for Hermione – that of a sister. I love Draco now, Ginny, and I hope you can accept that."

Ginny fumed – those present could practically see the steam coming out of her ears – before abruptly storming away. Harry watched her go with a sad look on his face. He hated to lose her, he really did.

"Give her time, love," Draco whispered soothingly in his ear, "She probably just needs a chance to calm down."

Harry turned to face him, smiling as he cupped Draco's cheek in his hand. He tilted Draco's head down to meet his lips, and they shared their second post-battle kiss.

Discreetly clearing her throat, Hermione directed their attention back to her and Ron. "I'm happy for you both, really," she began, "But isn't this a bit sudden? When did you first realize that you had these feelings for each other?"

"Draco followed me to the forest and explained some things about both of our pasts," said Harry vaguely, feeling that their conversation was one of their few interactions that should remain their own. "It put certain things into perspective, and shed some new light on them."

"Harry, mate, what are you on about?" Ron blurted out with his usual tact. "He's a _Malfoy_. They're bad to the bone – he'll never change."

Rather than lose his temper, as everyone around him seemed to expect, Harry calmly said, "War _does_ change people, Ron. We're certainly different than we were from just last year. Couldn't the same be true of Draco? He's no longer the arrogant schoolyard bully who spent his years tormenting us. He's grown up. And he saved my life!"

"Alright, Harry," said Ron, holding up his hands to placate his longtime best friend, "Whatever makes you happy. I daresay you deserve some happiness after having been to Hell and back."

"Thank you, Ron," said Harry, appreciating his support. "And thank you, too, Hermione."

The trio stepped forward to embrace, leaving Draco on the outside, looking in on their reunion. That soon changed, though, when Hermione held out her hand, drawing him into their circle. "You're one of us now, Draco," she explained.

"Thank you," he whispered, burying his head in the crook of her neck as her bushy hair cascaded around them. She squeezed him back tightly. There would be plenty of time to talk now – years and years, if they so desired.

"I'll only say this once, Malfoy," said Ron, moving to take Hermione's place. "Treat Harry right, or you'll have to answer to my entire family. Harry's one of us, and we take care of our own."

"Don't worry, Weasley," said Draco, though without his trademark drawl in place whenever he deigned to address the redhead, "I won't let anything happen to Harry – I love him more than life itself."

"Well, that's . . . good, then," said Ron awkwardly, not used to seeing Draco Malfoy display any emotion other than arrogance and contempt for those who were "less pure" than he was. "We'll be going now," he said in a rare show of insight, as he took Hermione's hand and led her back into the Great Hall.

Alone at last, Harry and Draco quickly came together. Their arms wrapped around each other as they held on for dear life, afraid that the boy in their arms would vanish into thin air if they let go for even an instant.

"You came back to me," Draco whispered, close to tears, "You're alive."

"I would die for you," Harry replied.

"As I would for you," said Draco, allowing his weakness to show as several traitorous tears trickled down his cheeks to mingle with the dirt and grime already coating him.

The pair sunk to their knees, unable to support their own weight any longer. They settled their backs as comfortably as they could against a nearby stone wall, Draco forcing Harry to accept his comfort as he guided the raven-haired boy's head to rest on his chest, his own head falling on top of Harry's. They stayed in these positions, unmoving, occasionally kissing, sometimes talking of past events. Harry shed many tears for those lost to Voldemort's forces. Draco rubbed his back soothingly and whispered sweet nothings in Harry's ear, telling him that he was not to blame for their deaths – Voldemort was. Harry hadn't held a wand to these people's heads and told them to fight – they had made their own choices, just as Harry had. Harry cried more at Draco's words, not having known the boy to ever be so eloquent before. Draco shed tears of his own for the loss of his parents, as his mother had yet to be recovered. Harry assured him that he'd done all he could – even in the midst of battle, Draco had continued to try to sway his father to the Light side, but he had refused.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook the boys, and they fell asleep where they were, curled up in each other's arms. And that was how they were found, resting peacefully together.

All was now well.


End file.
